


28 Train #writober2020

by YungWenLean



Category: Ginga Eiyuu Densetsu | Legend of the Galactic Heroes
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Male Homosexuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:02:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27233932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YungWenLean/pseuds/YungWenLean
Summary: The treaty of Ba'alat is signed, but not everything is truly peaceful on Heinessen. An imperial agent is following former rear admiral Attenborough, trying to detect any connections to a possible resistance movement. And it almost seems like tonight, Attenborough wants to be followed.Some surveillance. Some voyerism. Some gay bar. Some Attenborough's civilian fashion choices.
Kudos: 10





	28 Train #writober2020

**Author's Note:**

> #Writober2020 nearing it's end, so let's squeeze in some Attenborough-related voyeurism. I mean surveillance.

I’m in rebel civilian clothing, reading a newspaper, enjoying an espresso. My back is turned to the road, but in the window of the open air cafe I can see the reflection of the apartment building across the street. It feels a little less obvious that way. It’s Thursday, 17:28. I watch Attenborough four randomly decided half days every two weeks. They are not supposed to see the patterns. And you are not supposed to watch the same person too much, so that you don’t start to like them. A female officer can’t be assigned to a male object more than two half days a month, vice versa for male officers and female objects. I watch the Cazernes too, and some others. The idea is, if you shift between people, you will recognize common visitors. 

They were given the opportunity to stay in their old houses. The Yangs and the Cazernes did. Attenborough was one of those who chose to move to an apartment. The house was too large for him, he said, His apartment is spacious enough for a bachelor, I’ve seen the floor plan. A spacious bathroom, a living room with a balcony, a study, a bedroom. I wish I had something like that to return to.

I’ve been assigned to Attenborough for a couple of months now. He’s been more fun than the others. There is a public sports field nearby, and in the morning he runs a few leaps or fools around at the gymnastics corner. He handles the rings and bars with such ease that you forget how hard it is. Sometimes he joins local high schoolers for a game of basketball, and he’s terrible. After the morning exercise, he runs home, and I guess he showers. I can’t see that. We can’t really afford that kind of surveillance equipment.

He goes to books stores and the library a lot. He doesn’t leave any secret messages in the books, we’ve checked. He reads in parks, and sometimes he makes small notes in a brown notebook. He’s trying to get writing jobs, but he’s not allowed to work with any kinds of media for the nearest five years, so it’s tough. Sometimes he goes to concerts, the theater, poetry readings, a film festival once. He meets friends and spends some time at places where the local literary scene crowds. He doesn’t seem to meet any people that we can connect to the resistance movement. He likes grappa sours. I don’t always follow him. Sometimes it’s the uniformed fellows. Sometimes we let him walk by himself. You don’t need to watch someone at all hours to make them fear that they are always being watched. It’s up to us to make decisions about when the objects act suspiciously.

Attenborough exits the building. He’s wearing eggshell slacks, navy shoes – espadrilles, I think, a patterned shirt, tucked in, top two buttons unbuttoned, something knit thrown over his shoulder and a small red book in his hand. He’s wearing sunglasses, an aviator model. I don’t think he’s trying to stay unrecognized, it really is quite sunny. He looks around, like he is supposed to meet someone. All of a sudden, he seems to look straight at me and nod his head, like he tells me to follow him. It’s hard to tell with the sunglasses. Attenborough turns left and walks in the direction of the sports field. I decide that the object acts in a suspicious way, leave a few coins on the table and follow him.

Attenborough doesn’t seem to be in a hurry. He strolls past the sports field, buys a pack of cigarettes from a vendor, smokes one and lights one for a lady asking him for a light. His shirt looks soft and drapes from his shoulders into the folds tucked into the pants. The pants fit perfectly, a bit short, there is an inch of skin showing at the ankles. I think the book in his hand is _The Sun Always Shines_ , a short story collection. A colleague reported Attenborough attending the release event. Ne never looks back and I’m not sure if he has noticed me following him. 

At Astoria he turns the corner and I lose him for a second, until I realise that he has taken the stairs down to the train station. I find him again when he buys a ticket from an automat. I have a year pass. It’s crowded, and I can stay close. He takes the Midland train and sits down next to a window. He opens his book, and yes, it’s _The Sun Always Shines_ , he’s halfway through. He has taken off his sunglasses and judging by his expression the book is good. I stand by the door and pretend to read my newspaper. In the corner of my eye I see him close the book, using his ticket as a bookmark. I pretend not to notice that he’s about to leave the train and stand still when the doors open. When he walks past me, Attenborough looks straight ahead, but he bumps me with his elbow as he walks by. He hits my arm and for a moment I feel his skin against mine. He leaves a slight scent of cologne as he walks by. 

I’m certain he bumped into me on purpose. I don’t know what to make of it, but I keep following him. He smokes another cigarette, turns some corners. He seems to be walking around aimlessly until he reaches a small half cellar bar. You’d probably walk past it if you weren’t paying attention, it looks like a shabby neighbourhood Irish pub. I take a smoke outside, and then I follow him down the stairs. As soon as I open the door, my heart sinks and my pulse goes up to 200. I fell through a crack in the ice as a kid, and this is the same feeling. I haven’t been to many, but I know exactly what kind of place this is.

A short young woman at the entrance is obviously used to people just staring in disbelief when they walk in. “Can I see some ID, please?” she asks cheerfully, and I show her my FPA passport. “Joseph, like my brother,” she says. “Relax, Joseph, make yourself at home,” the girl waves in the general direction of inside and I can feel how the bar is much bigger than what you can tell from the entrance. I follow her instructions, in this kind of place walking around staring in wonder is not unusual, so I allow myself to pretend that this is my first time. After a few minutes I can tell that for all I know, this place might be taking up the cellar of the entire block. The few rooms I’ve seen so far don’t follow any architectural logic, there are level differences between the rooms, one or two steps, and from the movement of the crowd I can see that there is much more in the back. There might be a room large enough to turn into a dance floor later at night. There might be rooms for rent. 

I get looks from the men as I walk by. I avoid most, but I don’t have the willpower to avoid all of them. A guy in his thirties, unbuttoned shirt over a tank top, blond curls, he looks at me and I meet his gaze. A dark skinned man, a bit shorter than me, crew cut and yellow t-shirt, bumps into me in a corridor – as I apologise, our eyes meet. Without speaking a word, I have told him that yes, he can come up to me later. I find Attenborough. He is at the bar at the other side of a large room, and just from the gestures I can see that he’s ordering three beers. I stand at the bar too and point at a tap at random. It’s something local and not great. I lean against the bar and look around. Attenborough is with a group of five men around a low table, they don't seem to be going anywhere soon. I try to drink my beer slowly, but it’s hard. The room is hot and it feels like I need to do something to keep myself occupied. I can’t read the newspaper. I decide to take a tour. 

When I’m back, I see that Attenborough’s party has ordered more drinks. I lean against the bar and try half-heartedly to get the bartender’s attention, but he seems busy with a group of young loud guys. A handsome man with a sharp cut and glasses cuts in and buys two beers. He’s dressed in a casual tan suit, the sleeves rolled up, a darker polo shirt underneath. He walks up to me. “First time?” he asks. I nod. We start talking. He’s teaching computer science. I pull my cover story, but I need to modify it. I’m still from a small planet next to the Fezzan border, and I’m still in the concrete business, but I don’t mention the fiancée that I’m madly in love with – Angela has posed for the picture that I carry in my wallet. 

We talk. I tell him about the gay scene in my home town - it’s not in my cover story, but I imagine that it’s nonexistent like in my real hometown. I order another round. He tells me about Heinessenpolis. I need to piss and he’s standing really close to me. I wish I could ask him to follow me someplace private, but I’m still sober enough to inform Reza that I need to go alone, and he maybe can order a new round while I’m away. I’m overwhelmed and I’m scared, I try to keep my gaze focused right in front of me, like in a tunnel, like I’m living in a straight guy’s nightmare about a gay bar bathroom. The bathroom I walk into, it’s just a bathroom. The urinals are separated by screens between them. My heart is beating fast, but three beers is a good incentive for my dick to behave like its primary function is urinating. On my way back I see that there is a corridor that leads further into the building. I can feel the energy. 

When I find my way back, Attenborough is still at the table and Reza has two beers next to him. I join and we talk some more, until he asks me “if you don’t mind me asking, you are from the Empire, aren’t you?”. I almost drop my beer, but he grabs the beer and my hand. “There’s been an awful lot of guys like you lately.” I drink, like it would change anything. Like I’m a kid and covering my eyes would make the world go away. “I’m not surprised that you guys try to get work here,” Reza continues, “It seems much harder on your side. Although I’d go to Fezzan if I could.”

“Aren’t you going to do something?” I ask. He knows that I’m the enemy, and he just holds my hand and we haven’t said anything, but the invitation to follow him home is in the air. Reza shrugs. “I hate you guys, but _Free_ in Free Planets’ Alliance has been a bit of a joke. I might have more in common with you than with Trunicht”. When you work in the Forces, you need to adapt to a simplistic way of looking at things. Angela is one of us. Attenborough is the enemy. I assumed that every guy in here was the enemy, but, if I can trust Reza, some are one of us. Maybe all of us are us? In the corner of my eye I see Attenborough rising and saying goodbye to his friends. Earlier, when he went to the bathroom, he left his cardigan on the armchair. Now he picks it up and walks towards the exit. I do a little performance for Reza, I pretend that I’m just too stirred up and I need to go home now. It’s not entirely a performance, and Reza buys it. I walk to the entrance and the cheerful girl says “see you!”.

Attenborough is once again not in a hurry, he makes sure to stand under a streetlight longer than needed to light his cigarette, it gives me time to catch up a little. The air is chilly. He’s wearing the cardigan, but I’m freezing and it feels good to finally be at the station. There are many empty seats in the car, not many people go to the city from the suburbs a Thursday evening. The seats are arranged in fours, pairs facing each other. Attenborough finds a window seat and opens _The Sun Always Shines._ I can pick any seat, but I feel defeated and I sit down facing him.

After a few stops, he looks away from the book and looks out of the window. I do too. I can see his reflection. 

“They are closed Tuesdays, Sunday is ladies’ night,” he says looking into the darkness.

“How did you know?” I ask.

“Just a hunch,” he says, hardly moving his lips.

He gets back to his book. I pretend to read the paper for a while. Then I look at his reflection again. I’ve looked at him so many times – from the bleachers, from a cafe, from behind a book, behind a drink, the sidelines of a reading. But now it feels like if I look straight at him, I will go blind. He glances at my reflection.

“Want to come up?”

I feel like I explode and the shockwave travels through the car, shattering the glass. 

“To my place, I mean.”

I fall through the ice once again.

“I...can’t”

“Don’t tell me you have camera surveillance on my apartment”, Attenborough looks down at his book, but I can hear the military in his voice. 

“No… I just can’t.”

Attenborough snorts and for a second he looks straight at me, his eyes smiling. Then he looks down again. 

“What’s your name?”

“Joseph Mon…”

“No, I mean your real name.”

“Konrad.”

“Dusty. Nice to meet you.”

**Author's Note:**

> LOGH fandom seems on the whole focused on which one of the imperial admirals is the gayest. Which is a completely reasonable pasttime. But my favourite canon-compliant gay storyline in LOGH is Dusty. In the OVA, I think it's pretty easy to see if a character has a sexual vibe or not. Like, Yang is cute and charismatic in his own way, but doesn't come off as a particularly sexual character. Attenborough has zero incel vibe, and there is this standing joke about him being a bachelor, that to me screams "why was uncle Steve from the 60's never married, he seemed to be attractive and have a nice job and many friends", you know? And in Spiral Labyrinth, this is that confrontation between Dusty and his father, where his father REALLY wants Dusty to go into the military and not become a journalist, with some sort of grandfather story as motivation (the part with the lifesaving key seems to be bullshit, so the promise to your grandfather-part might be an excuse as well idk?). And the dad says something like "the happiness of the people around you/your family is more important that your personal happiness" and I'm like yeeeeeah this is toootally about journalism and in noooo way about trying to send your gay son to the army to make a man out of him.
> 
> Also, MY GAWD, Atenborough and Poplin turn up at things together and touch SO MUCH during the Iserlohn Republic arc. Daaaamn.


End file.
